No One Left
by altairattorney
Summary: [Monument Valley] It all came down to the sacred geometry — what they had created, too tightly intertwined with, and eventually died for.


**No One Left**

They came across the valley in the evening.  
A foreign wind swayed their balance, leading their eyes downwards; soon, the mystery of the land joined that of its moves, even from the height of their travel.

They slid as one, darkening the hue of the mountains. They flew like water on glass — wings made of milk and honey, yet bound to a steep angle. Ida was the first to land; and all that she saw, from the river to the towers, looked enchanted and new.

Under the stars, her eyes stayed open. She longed to gaze forever — that unknown geometry held the purest shine she had met in the vast world. Far and wide she had journeyed, looking for new lights to borrow; and the crown of this kingdom, eternally spinning, was the last jewel she would ever need to look for.

When they rose, shadows against the dawn, Ida's beak held a twinkle that was never meant for her.

* * *

The few survivors, already weakened by the long war, spotted the murder of crows when it was too late. Among the sacred candles, the little light they had fought to keep intact was no more.

Slowly, in the emptiness it had left, they began perishing.

Long months turned into ash before they could give in. Their lives turned into struggles against their own creations — they watched the colours melt, the stairs crystallize, with no longer a beginning or an end.

They told stories incessantly, to keep the spirit alive. They knew, however, it would all be lost without the source — in spite of their wisdom, the few voices died down, along with their hope.

More and more, over time, began their descent. Tracing their story all over the walls, inside the last of their palaces, they went to sleep.

He was the keeper of the tales, and the one to remember the secret. He alone found the power to stay; the chance they had lost at survival, he kept close, turning it into a long wait.

And he mourned, aware and powerless, the key to their glory. A curse would strike the thieves, yes — but there was no way back in time, no path to prevent greed and carelessness.

It all came down to the sacred geometry — what they had created, too tightly intertwined with, and eventually died for.

* * *

She noticed — from the last corner of the small palace she had built, her subjects vanished in thin air.

The light was so blinding Ida could barely look away. For a while, she had done nothing but bathe in its knowledge, rearranging the possibilities for her and her people — she had linked each rule to one of her feathers, harmonizing them for the fabric of her world.

Yet, the blessing had taken its toll. In a dazed walk, she realized she was almost alone. The empty trees shook under a different wind, too silent and sad; and it was then, among the abandoned nests, that she knew she had to return to the valley.

Ida spread her wings, to find she had none. There was no longer the chance of a swift journey — her frame looked different, both in shape and weight. She was milk white and black, wrapped in ethereal cloth, carrying a figure that was much like earthly creatures.

She had been rebuilt by magic, just as she did with the bizarre architecture of her newfound thoughts. Trying to get used to it, she landed — her true image grew fainter with each step.

Aware of her fate, she began the long walk towards acceptance.

* * *

A bizarre flock of birds rose, mirroring the past. They filled the outline of the valley with bright colours and songs.

Their legs, just freed from a cycle, were sore, and their wings ached with the need of life — still, finding themselves had given back their energy, for so long dulled in their wakeful sleep.

Ida's dance was slow against the sky. Her flight was vital, yet reluctant — there was a new thread of light, born from her journey, to bind her to this land. Just as she had first taken it for herself, she had learnt to be part of the geometry.

Those who had longed for their home returned together. She and a few companions landed, tickling the head of her newfound friend.

She knew this valley deserved much more. She would not leave behind dark windows, closed curtains, or sealed doors without their key. There had been life in this valley — like what she had stolen, she would bring it back.

Again, it was dawn. For the first time since the earth had forgotten, birdsong echoed in Monument Valley.


End file.
